I never knew
by Emerald-Water
Summary: It's a short one-shot, telling the story of Sam's soccer-trophy; after a great afternoon Sam begins to understand what Dean never had, but he never knew... Sam 9 /Dean 13 /John; a fight, fun and sappy moments. Enjoy
1. Chapter 1

Heya all! There's my new little Weechester-Fiction... only this time, I'll maybe make a small continuation out of it... The story tells about Sam's soccer-trophy... how it comes to it, or how it could have been, also it tells a little about Dean, and what he relinquished for his family... I decided Sam is 9 and Dean 13

I don't own them... doing this for fun... and to entertain people...

Lee

* * *

**I never knew**

Dean had watched the game with pride and cheered every time his little brother was running out his opponents. It was the end-game of the school-championship and Dean just knew they'd do it.

He literally jumped out of his seat as Sam drew back his foot and the ball went flying, briefly closing his eyes and as he opened them again, the goalkeeper was lying on his side, the people all applauding in an energetic rhythm. Sam had made another goal for his team…

_He remembered back, three month ago…_

Dean was furious. He had waited for Sam at least twenty minutes. They were supposed to be home by now, which meant his dad would be furious as well.

He had already searched the whole school for his little brother, and slowly the anger turned into worry. Where was Sam? As he rounded the corner of the ugly school-building he saw him sitting on the edge of the pitch at the schools sport-field. Alone. His anger drained almost immediately. Sighing out loud, he crossed his arms in front of his chest and trudged over to the younger boy.

Sam didn't noticed him, until he towered right over him. "What are you doing here short-stuff!" he asked nonchalantly. "You know dad's gonna be pissed, when we're late again."

Sammy looked up at him and Dean immediately crouched.

"What happened?" he asked, seeing the sad eyes, already tears glistening in the corners.

Sammy hung his head. "I hate sports! And I hate soccer!"

Dean plopped on the ground on the opposite of Sam, drawing his legs up to his chest.

"Tell me." He said.

"I'm just not good enough." Sam sighed troubled. "No one wants me in his team. I'm just the stupid new kid, who's not able to hit the ball. I suck!"

Dean snorted in disbelieve at his little brother. "Wait a minute, aren't you the short legged twerp that outruns ME sometimes?" he asked, trying to get a smile on his brother's face.

"Oh, come on Dean! Do you think I'm THAT stupid? Maybe I was when I was five. I'm not five any more!" Dean stood, annoyed from Sam's behaviour. Putting his hands on his hip he challenged: "Yeah, well! But here you sit, like a stubborn, spoiled brat – instead you do something about this!" Now Sam stood as well: "Well, what am I supposed to do! Cursing the ball into the goal? I just… I…"

"Ohhhh no, no, no. "Can't" is just no option. I always told you; you can do everything you WANT." Dean interrupted him. Sam pushed him. "Oh yeah! Says the guy who skips school on every possible occasion!" Sam snorted. Dean bit his lips at the remark. "You don't know what you're talking." He turned away from Sam swallowing hard. It had been a low punch.

For a while he stared out at the pitch and as a hand touched him on his shoulder he flinched violently, so lost in thought he had been.

"Sorry." Sammy said. "It's not your fault I'm not good at soccer. And I just used you as a punching bag…" Sammy saw his brother rub on his eyes. Dean wouldn't cry over this dumb fight like a baby, would he? But as Dean turned back, he just had a wickedly grin on his face.

"Well, Samantha. Looks like you're getting a little touchy, bitch?" Sam smiled at him. "Jerk!"

...

The two boys were now lost in their game, forgetting time, duty and sorrow. It had started to rain, but they didn't care. They enjoyed for once being just what they were. Boys. Dean had suggested, that they would play their own soccer. Soccer á la Winchester. So, everything was allowed. Tugging, ducking, light kicking and punching, dragging, pushing and pulling. The whole pitch was theirs. And both were player and keeper at the same time. Now Dean stood slightly behind and beside Sam, his mouth near his ear, letting Sam concentrate. "You never focus on the ball when you shoot." He whispered.  
The game was equal, and both decided it would end after everyone had one last shot from the doubled range of an penalty kick. Winner would be who hit, or came nearer at the goal. Dean felt Sam almost shudder in anticipation, adrenaline pulsing through his little brothers body. Sam nodded quietly, taking measure, than ran, drew his leg back and shot.

The ball flew in an slight and fast arc, hitting the goal… and then the tension was gone! Sammy jumped up and down, like a maniac Indian dancing for rain. Dean grinned, suddenly proud but jealous at the same time.

He saw Sam suddenly stopping his wild dance and freezing. He himself felt going rigid, as someones hand grabbed his shoulder hard, forcing him around.

There their dad stood, his face dark in anger. Dean swallowed, and felt as he was pushed forward, one rough hand on his scruff. "We'll talk about this later." His dad only hissed. Then he called back to Sammy who still stood stock still. "Sam, move it, will ya?"

...

It was late at night and Sammy knew he should be asleep. But ever since the game of soccer with his brother today, a question was running through his head, and he still waited for his brother to return to their room. He almost was on the brink of sleep, as the door opened quietly, and Dean slipped in.

"Dean?" he asked hesitantly. It took a while, but eventually he answered: "Hmmmm?" "Are you okay?" Sammy asked, first he needed to know that their dad hadn't punished him too hard.

He heard Dean sighing as he laid down. "Just tired…" he answered monosyllabic.

"Why did you never tell me?" Sam continued. Again, it took some time before Dean answered. "What?" he finally wanted to know. "That you're that good at soccer…" Sam said plainly. "What would it help if you knew?" Dean answered. Sam could hear Dean turning his back on him from the sound of his voice. "Well, you could have helped me from the beginning…" there it was. The small accusation. "Go to sleep Sam." He got in reply. "No. I wanna know." He said.

Dean sighed again, grumbling something under his breath. "I never played soccer... I didn't know." He finally gave Sam his answer. "Now let me sleep."

Sam laid there, in the dark, listening to his big brothers breath evening out, thinking about his last words. Dean had never played soccer… he hadn't been able to attend to a soccer-team at school… because, whenever Sam could remember Dean had been on his side. He swallowed at this thought, suddenly tears running down his face. _"I never played soccer… I didn't know."_

He almost jumped out of the bed, as some one placed a hand on his shoulder, a gentle hand, not a rough hand, like dad's had been on Dean's neck today…

He didn't talk, just lunched himself in his brothers arms, crying like a little baby.

"I'm so sorry, I said those things to you today…" he sobbed, crushing his brother with his hug. Arms running up and down his back, while Dean soothed him. "Shhh… it's okay. I know you didn't mean it…" he heard Dean's voice tremble as well, and felt his brother's chest hitching, trying in vain to suppress a sob. "I never knew…" Sam cried, and stopped as Dean grabbed him at his arms pushing him away slightly. "I wanted to do this, okay?" Dean said, trying to see through the darkness in his brothers face. "I wanted it. I knew dad would be pissed all the time… but this time with you… pretending… it's worth it…. Time with you is invaluable. Okay?" He shook his baby brother a little. "Okay…?!" he wanted his brother to acknowledge. "Okay." Sammy whispered.

"Now go to sleep, tiger."

_Back to present…_

Dean knew it all had been worth it. And today was worth it as well. John didn't know. If he knew… Dean would think about it, if it would come to it. A shrill whistle echoed over the pitch and the game ended. Dean bellowed the name of Sam's team together with the audience, almost jumping up and down, mimicking his brother on that certain afternoon three months back. He looked at his watch, only to see, that they had left thirty minutes before their dad would come home.

He watched Sam, enjoying this afternoon… or better his afternoon. He had won three goals in this game. Sam and his team-mates were celebrating their victory, screaming and laughing, hugging each other. He laughed out loud, as they carried Sam on their shoulders, remembering the pout his brother had made three month ago. No one liked him… Crap! Every one liked him!

He almost forgot to breathe, as some one laid his hands on his shoulder. Not rough, but a gentle touch. Still he tensed. Then one arm, wrapped around his chest, pulling him back.

"Hey sport!" his father said softly, no anger or wrath in his voice. "Why didn't you tell me today is the big game…" Dean shrugged. "Guessed you were busy…" he answered, without leaving his brother from sight. "You trained him good…" his dad continued, one hand ruffling his hair. "Most of this was his own work." Dean disagreed. "I just had to nudge him a little in the correct direction." He grinned proudly, it had all been worth it...

Together they left their spot to wait for Sam…

**FIN**

Hope you liked it. I'm thinking to make another short-story concerning Dean's punishment, and why it took him so long to get back at night... but I'm not sure at the moment...


	2. Chapter 2

Hi all! Guess what! ;) - I did have an idea about the second part... Dean's "punishment".  
It's quiet alot about Dean's and John's relationship. Just to let you know.

Hugs, Lee

* * *

The little apartment was quiet. John had pushed Dean on the first chair in the little kitchen, and then barked to Sam to go to his room; and to stay there. Dean had never seen their father that angry.

Now they both sat at the table but while Dean was thinking about the punishment his Dad had in mind John just sat there, not uttering a word. Just sat and stared daggers into the tables- surface.

"We need to talk." His father finally said. Dean, who'd sat there with hunched shoulders and his gaze on the table, raised his eyes, almost surprised.

"Yes, sir." Dean answered. "I want to understand." His father continued. "And then YOU need to understand." Dean again nodded: "Yes, sir."

"So? I'm listening." John entwined his fingers and leant forward, looking directly into Dean's eyes.

Dean returned his gaze, unwavering. "Sam was unhappy." He simply said. John raised his eyebrows. "Come again?"

Dean put both hands flat on the table. His Dad never understood!

"Why did you even ask? It's not as if you give a damn!" he growled.

"Watch your mouth." His father's voice was deadly calm, and Dean swallowed. "I don't like your attitude lately." His father continued, still deadly serious. "I know it's sometimes hard…"

"You don't know anything!" Dean interrupted, suddenly not caring anymore, if his Dad exploded, it would just suit him. "What?" the one word hung sharp in the air.

"Sammy sat there all alone, by himself. He's not like me! I grew up, like that. I know it sucks! I don't want Sammy to just have to rely on me… or you. I want him to have friends. I want him to be happy… and Mom would have wanted that too…" the last sentence he whispered. After that, the apartment went quiet again. "How dare you bring Mary into this…" his father hissed. Dean choked. "How dare? Dad this is all about her! About her and her death! It's always and only about her!"

John was up and around the table in the split of a second. Grabbing Dean at the collar of his shirt he pulled him up, shaking him slightly. "It's never been only about your mother Dean! It's never been! Look at me!" He grabbed Dean's chin hard, holding his face in place, so he would look at his father. "I said look at me!" he sternly ordered. "It's never been only Mary! Do you think I don't care?" He loosened his grip a little, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself down. "It's been about Sammy as well! Whatever did it to your Mom, it was after your baby-brother, too."

"What about me…" Dean said sadly. John let go of him, suddenly drained of all energy and stumbled a few steps back. He slid down the kitchen wall, pinching the bridge of his nose, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. "Goshh…" he sighed, tears now glistening in his eyes, as he watched his oldest son's shoulders slump further, turning away from him.

"Dean… I… I never knew…" he choked almost on his own words. He waited for his son to say something, but the boy only sat there, his back on him.

Minutes passed by without any sound disturbing the silence. John just didn't know how to comfort his son, what words he needed to say, to make things right.

And after a while, Dean sat up straight, turning back and studied his father, who still sat on the floor of the small kitchen.

"Show me. And tell me everything I need to know." He said his voice a mix between maturity, sadness and determination. John sat there reading his son's expression, knowing that he had to comply if he not wanted to lose Dean completely.

"Okay." He answered, knowing that this would change everything, that with this decision, his son would follow him into his war.

_SPNSPN_

John studied his son. On the outside Dean was calm, calmer than he had ever been on a hunt. But he knew that it was only a mask. Inside, Dean was in turmoil, his feelings jumbled. He guessed, right now, Dean couldn't differ what he felt; if it was fright, tension, excitement... He needed to keep an eye on him, or Dean would get hurt.

He had taught his son about how to handle a weapon, how to track, how to hide, how to follow, but it would be the first time his son actually joined him into a hunt. And this he couldn't teach him.

God, if he thought about it! It was his thirteen-year-old son who crouched beside him behind a dumpster, waiting patiently for a monster to crawl out of its hideout! Being ready to kill!

"Listen, Dean. You saw the pictures. This is one nasty son of a bitch, and I don't want you getting caught in the middle, okay? You're staying here. You wanted to know, and you wanted me to show you. You're not going into action, do you got me?" he ordered in a hushed whisper. In reply he got a slight nod. Dean's jaw was set, his eyes concentrated at something invisible in the shadows. "It's coming, Dad!" he whispered, breathless now.

John raised his eyes at this, turned his concentration back to the hunt. And soon enough, he could see movement too. The creature came… and it had something with it!!

...

Dean knelt behind the dumpster, watching in horror, as the creature trudged out of the shadow and into the dimly lit alley. It was dragging something small along. Something… someone… He felt his heartbeat double and sweat was beading on his neck, running down his back. The hunchback… or whatever-it-was, was dragging a small kid along. He had grabbed the little boy around his neck; blood was running down the child's temple, nose and mouth, the kids eyes were open, staring unseen... With a growl and a thud, the creature let it's prey fall down, as his father levered his gun and aimed. Suddenly the hair on the back of his neck raised and Dean turned just in time to see a second of the beasts advancing. Only it was him he attacked. The cry on Dean's lips was drowned out by the blasts of the shotgun of his father. Dean fought with everyhthing he had; hands, arms and feet as the creature first jumped and then pinned him to the ground. He smelled the nauseating stench of the creatures breath as it's chaps came closer and closer.

A jerk went through the monster on top of him, as the first bullet hit its chest. Blood was splashing everywhere. He closed his eyes in time, but felt the hot liquid on the skin of his face. Another shot and he thought he would go deaf, his ears ringing, but the weight of the beast was suddenly gone. He felt someone touching him, but first didn't dare to open his eyes. Only as some smooth fabric softly wiped over his face, he slowly squinted up. His Dad's face was hovering over him, looking down in concern and deep sorrow.

And in this moment, Dean suddenly knew, that even if Sammy always would be the one who needed the most protection, his Dad did care.

And right then the lump in his throat was back, and for once he decided it would be okay to let it go. His Dad grabbed him under his arm-pits, sitting him up and enveloped him in a hug, rocking him slightly back and forth. "Shhh, everything's okay. You're okay now. You're okay now." And Dean hold onto him as if he would fall, if he let go. He heard his Dad repeating his soothing words over and over and over…

_SPNSPN_

It was long past midnight as the two arrived back home. They were both exhausted from the events of the night. His Dad had his arm draped around Dean's shoulder, as if he was afraid of loosing contact right now. In their little kitchen, Dean sank down onto one of the chairs, watching his father, as he opened and closed drawers, clattered with pots and pans, until one of the pots was on the stove. He moved over to the fridge, opened it, rummaging though it, and came back with some milk. A few minutes later, both sat in front of a steaming mug of hot cocoa, looking at the brown liquid.

"You're alright sport?" his Dad asked, his voice hoarse with emotion. Dean could feel his Dad's eyes study him, trying to read his mind.

"I… I never knew…" Dean whispered, his hands sneaking around his mug in an attempt to warm them up. His Dad, got up from his place the second time that day. He knelt in front of Dean, taking the youngsters hands in his. "You knew this is out there, the day your mother died. But there are two sorts of knowing. And this you didn't know. But I'll help you with it. Sammy… " he stopped, taking in a shaky breath. "Sammy, is different from you. You told me yourself today. He's… he…" he searched for words, trying to explain it, but Dean finished for him. "He'd be like the small boy, wouldn't he? I mean, maybe, one day he'll be able to defend himself. But now, at the moment he'd just be another small boy, in the claws of these… these… things we're hunting." He saw Dean swallowing down a sob, trying hard to keep his mask in place. "Yeah…" his Dad answered in an almost not audible whisper. "He'd be just another little boy, like the one tonight."

Dean nodded. "I understand now." He said, taking a small sip from his cocoa, then sat the mug back down on the table. "Goodnight Dad."

John looked at his son, tears blurring his vision and he silently sobbed.

"_Tonight had been the night when he had lost Mary's son… but he had gained a companion…"_

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**FIN**

Well? What do you think? I think it's not too bad... let me know!!


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